They still come to 'Field of Dreams'

Small towns strive mightily to come up with attractions capable of luring and sustaining tourism trade.

Lanesboro has its bike trails and rolling bluffs, New Ulm wears it German shtick like a badge, and Mankato stays on travelers’ radar with a mix of Minneopa Falls, Maud Hart Lovelace’s old haunts, and large men sweating over a football each summer.

But if a small community really wants to strike tourism gold, having a timelessly beloved movie filmed there is the way to go.

This year marks the 20th anniversary of “Field of Dreams,” the ethos and impact of which has been pondered more than Michael Jackson’s psyche.

The baseball-movie-that-isn’t-really-a-baseball-movie was shot in the northeast Iowa town of Dyersville, a 4,000-resident burg that continues to draw about 50,000 visitors a year to Don and Becky Lansing’s farm.

In the movie, Kevin Costner’s character builds a baseball field in a cornfield after a heavenly voice tells him to do so.

The film touches upon an amalgam of themes — America’s deep roots in the national pastime, bittersweet homages to lost youth, and the nuanced and often conflicted dynamic of the father/son bond.

It’s 107 minutes of fantasy culminating with a father and son playing catch scene that defies the American male not to cry.

In other words, it’s not for nihilists and Grinches. You either buy into it or you don’t. Not much middle ground in this flick.

Meantime, the pilgrims keep showing up at that Iowa farm, which has retained the ballfield and small set of bleachers, as in the film, but save for a souvenir stand hasn’t been junked up or commercialized one iota.

It’s just a baseball diamond amid cropland, and yet, 20 years after the movie’s release, it remains a mecca to people for reasons sometimes even they can’t fathom.

The film’s director, Phil Alden Robinson, sought to explain its undying allure to Sports Illustrated:

“The major leagues are about five percent of what baseball is in this country. Baseball is mostly about things such as having a catch on a warm summer night. I think in one respect (the film) may have reminded people that baseball is more than just the major leagues. Its roots come from having a catch with your dad.”

In 1990, I and Free Press photographer John Cross and my son John, then 12, went to Dyersville for a feature article on the pilgrimage phenomena taking place.

We came upon a scene and an aura unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

It was a hot, sticky Saturday afternoon, and the people there had journeyed to what had already become a heartland Lourdes.

One couple had driven 240 miles from their home in Illinois. A Chicago limo driver and his wife were making their second visit in two years.

On the field an impromptu ballgame was going on. Strangers of all ages just playing in the sun, happily but reverentially, clearly regarding this plot of land as hallowed ground, each with personal reasons for doing so.

A lanky middle-aged man from Alabama was cavorting on the field with his two sons. He spent much of the afternoon pitching to any child wanting to take a few swings.

His shirt and cap were soaked with sweat as he walked off the field, smiling.

Before he headed to his car he tried to explain what drew him there:

“The place captures your imagination. I had dreams of playing major league ball but, of course...”

He paused to look back on the field.

“...I never made it.”

In the movie, James Earl Jones’ writer character convinces Costner’s character, Ray Kinsella, of the field’s inexplicable power:

“People will come, Ray...They’ll turn up in your driveway not sure why they are doing it. They’ll arrive at your door, as innocent as children, longing for the past.”

Twenty years hence, they’re still arriving in Dyersville, where life continues to imitate art.

Brian Ojanpa is a Free Press staff writer. Call him at 344-6316 or email bojanpa@mankatofreepress.com